


And I Don't Know Why, but with You I'd Dance in a Storm in My Best Dress, Fearless

by kikitheslayer



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Baking, Brooklyn Nine-Nine Holiday Gift Exchange 2015, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cookies, Established Relationship, F/M, Kissing, Late at Night, also they discuss zombies for some reason??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5489561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikitheslayer/pseuds/kikitheslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Amy is that one person who goes way overboard with the cookies every year, and she and Jake end up baking until like five am.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Don't Know Why, but with You I'd Dance in a Storm in My Best Dress, Fearless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [behindthetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindthetardis/gifts).



> I'm p sure it's canon Amy can't cook, so you know. Let's pretend she can only bake cookies or something.

They say that you get a special bond staying up with someone past midnight. If that was really true, Jake and Amy had a bond that you couldn’t sever with Rosa’s axe. They had spent nights on stakeouts and doing paperwork, hookups and late-night conversations. And as horrible as they often felt in the morning, if either were being honest, they wouldn’t give up their nights for anything. Even if that night was spent half-covered in flour.

* * *

Jake woke up to a familiar sight. Amy was propped up against a pile of pillows next to him, the blanket just pulled over her lap. She had yet to do her hair or put on makeup. She was holding a steaming mug in one hand, a pencil in the other, and she was jotting notes on a sheet of paper in an open binder, one of many scattered around the bed.

He moved two of them off his chest and yawned loudly. “Mornin’.”

She set down the tea, and with her eyes still trained on her work, ran a hand lightly over his back. “Go back to sleep, hon. You don’t have to be up for twenty.”

He sat up and wrapped an arm around her torso. “Whatcha working on?”

“Holiday spreadsheets, mostly. I think if we’re really organized this year, we can bake enough cookies for gifts, the holiday party, around the apartment, and three soup kitchens.”

He raised his eyebrows in alarm. “ _Really_ organized? What was last year then?”

She shrugged. “Last year was okay, but it didn’t pan out the way I wanted. We were out of dough three days before Christmas Eve.”

“I remember. You had a minor breakdown and came back to our apartment with all the flour for sale in Brooklyn.”

She flipped to a new page, settling into his side. “Your attention to detail is what I love most about you. Do you think Gina can still get the…” -- she lowered her voice -- “underground sprinkles?”

He laughed. “I still think she was lying to you.” He paused and reflected. “Although there were a lot of people I’d never seen before hanging around her desk that week.”

She reached into the pencil case kept in the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a highlighter. She traced a box around the words “Cookies” at the top of the page and pulled it out of the binder, shutting the rings with a snap. “Ready,” she said in a low voice, like she was finished preparing for battle.

“Good,” said Jake, “because if your schedule is correct, we don’t have to be up for seventeen minutes. And if we follow _my_ usual work schedule, we have a solid half hour to do whatever.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “If you make me late, I swear to god.” She leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

“So I want everyone on the lookout,” finished Amy. She closed the file on the podium and tightened her ponytail. “Now, if everyone would turn to the last page of your case file, you should see a sheet detailing your tasks come this holiday season. Gina and Detective Boyle are arranging the holiday party, so thank you guys, but on the backside you’ll see the jobs I’ve assigned all of you baking-wise. I want everyone on this, people!” 

She directed her attention to a police officer in the back row. “And Officer O’heir, no slacking off this year, okay? We’re cooking with real butter or nothing.” She gave a final nod and exited, allowing Gina to stand in her place.

“Okay, thank you, Amy, for... _whatever_ that was.” Gina leaned forward and slapped her hands on the podium. “I’m sure you all remember the mistakes of last year. One, we allowed Boyle to be completely in charge of the decorations, and every keyboard in the precinct mysteriously broke after being covered in fake snow. Don’t worry, I am organizing 90% of this year’s party.”

Everyone ignored Boyle’s muttered protests.

“Two, we let Jake be the only one in charge of helping Amy stay sane. I know the weirdly specific formatting on those ingredient sheets may be off-putting and ugly, but you cannot blame Santiago for consistency, people. This is the better option overall.”

She stepped away, and everyone began filtering out of the briefing room. Amy caught Boyle’s shoulder.

“Hey, do you think you could look at the recipe I printed out? It’s on your desk.”

He shook his head. “Amy, _no_. Terrible! Did you just print it off a second-rate cooking blog like last year?”

She shrugged. “Probably? What was wrong with it?”

Boyle shook his head and set a hand on her shoulder. “Amy, you have to be careful with these people. Most of them don’t wouldn’t a properly sauteed mushroom if it was served to them in a five-star French restaurant!”

Amy nodded. “I’m… sure that’s true, but it really just needs to be a cookie recipe. It doesn’t have to be that fancy.”

“Amy, let me handle this.”

“Okay, but get it to me by tomorrow, remember?”

He laughed and knocked her lightly on the arm, and was still laughing as he walked away.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she muttered.

* * *

Amy was typing away at her desk when Rosa walked up to her, a hand on her hip. “I can’t help bake this year, sorry.”

“Oh!” Amy paused and turned to her. “You have plans or…?”

Rosa shrugged. “Me and Gina had a bet, and whoever lost had to help. I won. Just being upfront.”

Amy turned her head to where Gina was walking through the precinct, eyes fixed on her phone. “Damn it, Gina! You were supposed to getting people to help this year, not drop out.”

Gina didn’t slow down. “Sorry, can’t talk now. I’m live tweeting Rosa’s complete betrayal of my trust.”

Rosa shrugged, gave Amy a final, grunted “Sorry” and walked away.

* * *

“Mm, no,” grumbled Jake into his pillow. It was one am, but the overhead light had been turned on, keeping the room almost uncomfortably bright.

“Jake, come on,” said Amy, shaking his shoulder. “It’s an emergency.”

He turned over and sat up immediately. Amy was standing up, dressed. “What?” Jake yelped, reaching out to grab her hand. “Amy? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Amy’s face relaxed. “I’m fine, Jake. Well, no, but like, we haven’t been robbed or anything.”

He settled down. “Oh. Good. So…”

“It’s December 15th.”

“Right, of course. Which means…” He shook his head. “It’s National Wake Up Your Boyfriend Day?”

“No, it means we’re _behind schedule_.”

He tugged on her hand, and she sat down on the edge of the bed. He frowned. “Is this about the cookies again?”

“Yes,” she said. “Half the people I wanted to help have given me bad excuses -- I’m actually starting to respect Rosa’s way. I mean, what even is ‘traumatic EZ bake experience?’”

“Accidentally starting a fire with a light-bulb?”

“Plus,” added Amy, emphatically waving her arms, “Boyle hasn’t given me his recipe, and we don’t have any of the ingredients.”

There was a momentary pause before Jake said, “So you’re going to try to do it all yourself. Tonight.”

“Pretty much.”

He swung out of bed. “Can we go to IHOP while we’re out? It can be our weird “ended up at a fast food place at midnight” couple’s story!”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Sure.”

He pulled on a shirt. “By the way, you didn’t find that EZ bake story weirdly specific?”

“I know you pretty well, Peralta. You told me that story three months after we met.”

* * *

“Grocery stores at night are so creepy,” said Jake in a low voice. He was hunched over, holding a grey plastic shopping basket in one hand and using the other to keep his black jacket folded protectively over his chest.

Amy rolled her eyes. “Why are you whispering?” she asked, although she kept her voice similarly pitched down.

“Come on, Ames,” said Jake, “we’re halfway to a zombie movie here.”

Amy had to admit there was something a little off about the store. Maybe it was the flourescent lighting contrasted with the darkness outside, the way their footsteps echoed in the deserted hallways, or the brain dead look in the eyes of the clerks manning the registers. Still, she wasn’t about to admit that. “It’s a Safeway,” she said. “The scariest thing here is how long it’s been since they restocked their produce section.”

He shook his head. “If we get murdered, it’s because you didn’t give this the gravity it deserved!”

She shook her head. “Okay, say this was a zombie movie. A scientific impossibility, but pretend. You wouldn’t die. You would…” She paused, disguising her thinking with checking the price on a gallon of milk. She looked up. “Barricade the doors. Create a hideout in a supply closet. Hoard as much non-perishable food as possible, living on the other stuff first. We could use the PA system to communicate.”

Jake nodded. “You know, for someone who hasn’t been planning a zombie apocalypse since they were ten, that’s pretty good.”

“‘Pretty good?’ What would you change?”

He shrugged, grabbing a few bottles of sprinkles at random. “Are these fast zombies or slow zombies?”

“Slow,” she answered quickly. Let’s not get too crazy.”

“Okay, easier to survive, but you’d still need a weapon. A Wal-Mart would be better.”

“I’m not spending the rest of our post-apocalyptic lives in a Wal-Mart.”

He smiled fondly. “But you would in a Safeway?”

“No, no -- we’d only camp here while it was a viable option. Then we’d move on to someplace else. Like a Costco. They sell mattresses.”

“Hmm, smart, smart. So how long have you thought about this?”

She fiddled with her hands. “I’m doing it now. Help me out. We’re both working when the virus breaks out, so we take a cop car and get to a less populated area.”

“We’re already car thieves in this scenario? I love it.”

“Yep. We survive with what we brought for a little while, but then we have to find either another camp or a store or something.”

“Another camp,” said Jake. “We can get married in a deserted barn. Then we discover our entire wedding party was zombies and fight our way out.”

A small smile appeared on her face. “We can work for a better future. Our children won’t grow up in the world we knew, but we hope that their children will.”

“Jake and Amy are no longer… We ditch our old identities for our new, cool post-apocalyptic names. SteelEater McJones and… Who do you want to be?”

“I’ll stick to Amy, thanks.” She snorted. “Amy and SteelEater McJones. Someone needs to make a movie.” She almost doubled over laughing, and Jake quickly joined her.

“I think,” he wheezed, “we’ve been awake too long.”

She held up and waved a bottle of vanilla extract, the last item on their list, and said through peals of laughter, “We’re just getting started.”

* * *

Their kitchen was dimly lit. It seemed the dark offered a certain spell neither wanted to break by flipping on the electric light. The ingredients had been spread over the counter, the mixer was plugged in, and Amy had flipped open every cookie recipe she owned. “Let’s get started,” she said.

“Boyle didn’t approve any of these, did he?” asked Jake, running a finger down the page of a cook book.

“Nope,” said Amy.

“That’s probably for the best. His palette is like three years ahead of everyone else’s.”

Pretty soon, they found their groove. Amy already owned an apron in Jake’s size, and years of working cases side-by-side had lead to an unshakeable partnership, even in the kitchen. Working in tandem, they somehow got the first two trays in the oven without a hitch.

Unfortunately, the dim light may not have been the best plan. A dropped spatula lead to a fall which lead to Jake accidentally coating the front of Amy’s apron with vanilla extract. “Jake!” she cried.

“Sorry!” he responded sheepishly.

Suddenly, her angry expression fell, and she raised an eyebrow. “Do you think this is a game?” she asked. Before he could respond, she hit him with a handful of flour, causing a white cloud.

“Damn,” he said. “Two am Amy is _evil!_ ”

* * *

Soon, the two were locked in what could only be described as a food fight. 

Jake was chasing a baking powder-covered Amy around the small kitchen with a handful of sprinkles. “You can surrender now, and this can all be over.”

She laughed. “No way.” 

At the last second, she didn’t turn the corner, letting Jake round it without her. He turned around quickly, and Amy chased him he was pressed against the wall separating their kitchen and living room. She looked up at him, a smirk on her lips.

He straightened up slightly, turning his head in the direction of the kitchen. “You sure you want to take valuable baking time away to do this?” he asked.

She cast a glance around the messy kitchen. “At this point it’s make out with you or have a heart attack.”

He grinned. “Do I win?”

She grinned, looking up at him with stars in her eyes and butterflies she didn’t think should have lasted this long. “Just barely.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. She heaved a sigh, and he followed suit, sinking against the wall while still pressing closer. He wrapped both of his arms around her torso, and she slid hers up into his hair. Their breath became shaky as they both went for more, their lips pressing together and pulling apart, Amy’s tongue tracing Jake’s bottom lip. 

It was a familiar action by now, but when he opened his eyes slightly and found that she had done the same, he still blushed a little. She smiled, pulling away. Her gaze traced over his jaw and lips before resting on his eyes. She rested her forehead briefly against his. He grinned, the way he always did when they kissed, and reached up a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face.

The oven timer went off.

She pulled her head away and looked at the oven, her hands still resting against his chest. “That’s probably right on time,” she sighed.

She pulled away and began tugging on an oven mitt. “Tell you what,” she said, “help me with five more batches, and we can not only go IHOP, we can finish what we started.”

He chuckled, walking over to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders set the tray of cookies on the stove. “Are those separate outings?”

she pulled out the paper towels and began work on the counter. “I hadn’t thought that much ahead.”

“Deal.”

* * *

The five batches came out within the hour and almost without a hitch. “Time to decorate.”

Jake gasped. “Best part!” he cried.

Amy smiled fondly. “We’ve got sprinkles and frosting.”

* * *

She finished the last of the reindeer. “Done!” she cried, wiping her hands on her soiled apron.

“Not quite,” said Jake. He held out two plain gingerbread men. Due to a lack of space on the pan they had melded together at the side, so it almost looked like they were holding hands. Amy watched over his shoulder as he carefully piped on chocolate hair and pressed in smiling sprinkle faces. “We’re cute,” she remarked.

He nodded. “You bet your ass we’re cute.” He paused. “Although is it weird to eat this one?”

She shrugged, before pulling out a piece of wax paper and laying them on top. She wrote “Jake + Amy” on it in sharpie. “Maybe we get eaten in the gingerbread zombie apocalypse. A heroic end.”

He nodded. In a very serious voice, he said, “Achocolypse.”

* * *

Pressed together in the IHOP booth, Amy said, “You know we still have a lot of baking to do, right?”

He smiled wearily. “Can we do it during the day next time?”

She took a bite of her pancake, leaving a smear of whipped cream in her chin. “Duh. I’m never doing this again.” After registering his face, she amended, “Well, not never. Give me a year. We can do late-night stress baking every holiday season.”

He smiled. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

* * *

It turned out that wasn’t the only tradition they established that year. 

“Well,” said Jake, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I really didn’t think I would be getting thrown out of an IHOP when you woke me up earlier.”

Amy shrugged. We were in the back booth, the place was deserted, and we were being pretty damn chaste. I for one am offended.”

“We really need to stop making out in public places. Remember when we gave our captain a heart attack? We have kind of a terrible track record.”

“So… where do you want to get thrown out of next year?”

“Arby’s.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Fearless" by Taylor Swift.


End file.
